


Whatever is Needed

by JantoJones



Series: Brief Briefings [63]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-20
Updated: 2016-11-20
Packaged: 2018-09-01 03:41:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8605891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JantoJones/pseuds/JantoJones





	

"The choice is yours, Kuryakin."

Illya, who hadn't attempted to escape his bonds, spat into the face of his captor. It earned him a slap that caused his head to make painful contact with the wall, to which he was chained.

"All you have to do is give us the information we want in exchange for your freedom."

"There is no choice," Illya gasped. "The information is not mine to give, therefore, the offer of my freedom is academic."

"Have it your way. Maybe another hour with my colleague will loosen your tongue."

As his captor left the cell, Kuryakin was once again found himself in the company of his torturer. The man didn't bother with finesse and usually stuck with the tried and true pummelling method of persuasion. After two days of a constant cycle of demands and torment, Illya was more than ready for his rescue. Had he been captured during any other mission, he would have tried several ways of escape by now. This time, however, Illya had to await a rescue which would only come when the mission was completed by Napoleon.

Solo was actually the one who had the information that Illya's captor was so desperate for. The Russian had once again been consigned to the position of decoy, and all the discomfort it entailed. As soon as he had delivered the information, Napoleon would come for his partner.

Illya closed his eyes and readied himself for the first punch. He knew that wherever the blow landed it would hurt; thanks to the bruises he already had. The punch never came. Instead, he the tell-tale 'pfft' of a sleep dart being fired, followed by a body crumpling to the ground. Opening one eye, Illya was greeted with the pearly white grin of Napoleon.

"Are you well, Tovarisch?"

"Tell me, Napoleon," Illya began, as Solo released him from his chains. "How come you are never the decoy?"

"Hey, don't blame me for this one," the American replied. "The Old Man decided the roles this time."

Illya raised a disbelieving eyebrow. As far as he could recall, Napoleon had never been the decoy during their partnership. Still, there was no point in arguing the point. The result of the mission was the important part, and it was his job to do what was needed to ensure that result.


End file.
